Sleepless Night
by kei-angelus
Summary: When the truth was told, both the diagnostician and the oncologist didn't get any sleep that night.


**Disclaimer : House, M.D. belongs to FOX and David Shore.**

" _House. Wait."_

Wilson couldn't help imagining his own voice calling his best friend's name as he watched him open the door of his office and walk away.

But all he could do was staring at his best friend's back before he heard the elevator dinged and the person he was staring at went inside without even looking at him for the last time. And Wilson spent an extra hour in his office, not even sure if he should have felt guilty or not.

And House just couldn't even raise his head to see his best friend for the last time. After hearing the reason his best friend had been avoiding him that day, all he could have done was staring at nothing in silence, not even sure if he should have said something or not. It all was just because of the truth that _Wilson_ —out of all people, had cancer.

That was why House couldn't even gritted his teeth because of his inability to determine his feeling right now. He couldn't say anything as he stood up and left Wilson alone. Because House was the one who _needed_ to be alone right now.

That night, they both couldn't get any sleep.

Wilson had sprawled on his bed for hours despite of his meeting with Doctor Mike Kondo in the morning. Facing the truth, he recalled that Tucker once said that the person you wanted to be with when you were dying wasn't the same person you wanted to be with when you were living. Now Wilson knew that it was _really_ wrong. Maybe Tucker was really a self-centered jerk. Because Wilson could only thought about one person, if someone asked him whom he wanted to be with in his remaining time. He might have not been the most generous person in his life, let alone the supporting and comforting friend other people would always need, but Wilson still needed _him_ , just like how _he_ always needed Wilson. Because in _his own_ signature way, Wilson knew that he cared.

He couldn't help but thinking about how his best friend was dealing with the revelation of his thymoma cancer. He was afraid that his best friend would do something stupid, maybe drinking himself to sleep, or another OD, or jumping out from a roof. _Wait. Am I really worth his life?_ Wilson thought.

But the closest answer was the first one, minus the sleeping part. House just spent his night drinking. He had given up trying to go to sleep, because he just simply knew that he wouldn't be able to get the sleep he needed. His best friend had cancer, for God's sake. He tried to play his piano, but nothing came out to move his fingers. Instead, he banged some random keys and stood up in unspeakable anger. He cursed as he put too much of his weight on his right leg it hurt. Thank God—who he never believed in, he loved his guitars so much that he wouldn't destroy it. He spent the next hour just sitting on his couch, staring at nothing.

It was almost three in the middle of the night when Wilson finally decided to leave his bed and did what House had already been doing for the past three hours. He took a bottle of wine he actually had prepared to celebrate something in the future and poured the content into his wine glass—that was also prepared for party purpose. "To thymoma," he murmured before drinking his alcohol.

And at the same time, "To cancer," House murmured as he raised his fifth bottle of beer.

Then it was almost four in the morning when Wilson stared at his cellphone while circling his glass in his hand. Wilson knew he needed to call him, despite of the chance of his not answering. Wilson knew he needed to talk to him, despite of his saying the opposite—though they both would know that it was a lie. Wilson knew he needed him, despite of some sarcastic remarks the best friend would say _if_ Wilson ever really said it.

And if— _if only_ Wilson had the guts to call. Because House was secretly waiting for his phone on the corner of his coffee table to buzz, though there was a big chance that he wouldn't answer it, either it was because he was scared or he was drunk, or maybe both.

 _Because if you die, I'm alone._

They both reminded of that very rare occasion when House had said what he had really felt, without any sarcasm or metaphor coating it. They both knew the amount of truth in those words. From that day, Wilson knew how much he meant for his best friend and he promised himself that he would never leave him. And from that day, House had let his best friend knew how much he was afraid of losing him.

But now it was happening. That _damn fucking cancer_ happened.

It was almost five in the morning when both of them were lying on their couches, staring at the ceiling. Both of them had started to feel their head spinning and their body heating because of lack of sleep and the alcohol. Wilson rubbed his eyes, feeling that burning sensation every time he closed his eyes. Somehow, he missed the time when House lived in the same apartment as his. Somehow, he regretted ever kicked him out just because of that stupid affair he had had with his first ex-wife, though he had already known that House had always been his safe relationship. And he had abandoned him, for an _unsafe_ relationship with his ex-wife who had gotten a second chance which he had hardly managed for one month. In the end, Sam hadn't deserved a second chance. And it was such a shame that Wilson had just realized this when the clock was already ticking. He regretted the one year he had forgotten that promise, the one year he had spent to try to move on from his best friend while that certain best friend had been in jail. He should've visited, or at least called once in a while. Wilson just thought that this was some kind of punishment for ignoring his best friend.

But now it wasn't about visiting or calling anymore. It was about _leaving_ him— _forever_. And no matter how Wilson tried to find something positive in this, he couldn't. Because he was going to betray his own promise to himself. The promise to _not_ leave House alone.

No matter how sarcastic and cynical House would be about this, he was actually terrified. The idea of his life without Wilson just terrified him. Of course, they'd had their fights, they'd had their times separated from each other. But just like Nolan had said, Wilson had been his safe relationship—he was his safe place. And the idea of losing permanently it had never crossed House's mind.

It was almost six in the morning when they finally got up, eyes burning. Both were getting ready to start the damn day, one getting ready to get his _fifth_ opinion from another oncologist, one getting ready to stalk the other.

When they both finally got out of their doors, they just wished that it was all just a bad dream, but apparently, they realized that they hadn't been able to sleep at all and they have to face the reality.


End file.
